


Take Me To Church

by BWaves



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Biting, Dersecest - Freeform, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3639984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BWaves/pseuds/BWaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Lalonde is… Beautiful. Terrifying. Sexy and awful and everything in between and she drives you crazy. You love her and you hate her and it’s exactly what she wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me To Church

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Take Me To Church by Hozier, I heard it and I was like wow this is Rose/Dave, and thus I made this.

Being with Rose was… An experience. To say the least. She had these expressions that were so easy to read, but you never knew what they were regarding. She would shoot you a black smirk and you could tell that she was plotting, but never what she was plotting or what it was in reference to.

She’s the cover of the book. You can read it all you want, but you won’t learn much about the story.

And she knows that. She knows, and uses it against you so thoroughly, you’ve never been so easily aggravated by a woman in your life but she gives you these looks, these knowing looks. You can see the way her eyes trail down and up and you know she sees the shiver that rolls through you. You hide it. But she knows.

You can’t stand to look her in the eye and she knows that too, she uses that against you as well.

She’s a witch. She is hell personified.

But fuck you, you love her.

And she knows.

And uses it against you.

Constantly.

Where she really gets you is the sex. The foreplay with her can last anywhere from five seconds to five hours. She'll either pin you down and fuck you or she'll tie you up and she will scrape you apart piece by piece as she slowly touches and rides you.

She likes the latter more.

You can tell because she moans the loudest. Like a high paid porn star she moans, and it makes you a mess just like her words and touches do. She gets off on you falling apart under her hands, her teeth, her nails. Her words.

She traces shapes into your skin and you worry sometimes that they’ll stay, that you’ll never be rid of it when she scratches her name into your chest with her nails, when she draws dicks on your back.

You really hate that part of you that wouldn’t mind it. That insists you press along the stinging red lines on your chest when you jack off. You hate the part of you that misses them when you catch yourself in the mirror a few days later and they are gone. The part you hate the most is the part that dug your own nails into your side to try and replicate the feeling. Rose laughed. Dug in so deep the next time that the welts scabbed and lasted longer. You were gross, and you picked at them to make sure they scarred. You don’t remember actively doing it, you just know that once they were healed, there were scars, and they really shouldn’t have left scars.

She rules you. Mind and body, she rules you and you hate her for that. She’s always been one step ahead of you, you’re older but she’s smarter, she’s better, and you hate her.

Though the hate doesn’t stop you from begging and pleading and using “I love you” as a sick incentive to get what you want from her in bed. You’re pretty sure that’s just what she wants from you.

Rose Lalonde is… Beautiful. Terrifying. Sexy and awful and everything in between and she drives you crazy. You love her and you hate her and it’s exactly what she wants.

“Oh, Dave.” She sighs your name so fucking dreamily. You stomach turns and you swallow, the black lipstick stains covering your chest shaking with your body as you forcibly breathe in and out, in and out, in and out. She walks her fingers up your sternum as rests a hand flat over your cheek, smiling down at you. She leans down, places the barest of kiss on your lips and you whimper when she pulls away.

She sits up and you watch her, watch the way her breasts shift in the bra she’s wearing and settle into place. Perky little things that she knows how to display when she’s alone with you. You feel so exposed. She’s lost nothing but her shirt, and you’re completely naked. It makes your stomach quiver again and she pets your cheek, runs her thumb over the spot beneath your eyes and she shushes you softly, insists that “It’s okay, Dave. I know you like it when I do this.”

And she’s right.

“I love breaking you, Strider.” She murmurs, and beyond the slight sarcastic tone you hear genuine emotions, a soft little sigh of… Love. You suppose. She leans down again, places another kiss on your lips. You fight for more, quickly licking, biting down on her lip. She freezes, moans softly at the pressure and removes her hand, clamps her teeth shut. And she refuses to touch you, or let you kiss her until you relent and you let go, a soft noise escaping you as she draws back.

“So impatient,” she says gently, her hand lands on your chest, gently trails down until it reaches your thigh and despite knowing what’s coming the sharp crack, the sting, the sound of her palm coming down on your skin, it all still makes you flinch. You tense up, your wrists and ankles start to burn from the pull you give them. She tsks and rubs the spot until you relax. “Surely you know better by now, Dave.” She says and the second is much less forgiving with the layered pain.

The noise that leaves you can only be described as a sob. She hushes, rubs the spot again and shifts her hand to the other leg.

Heaven forbid she ever spank your ass. Always the front of your thighs.

The third hit has your body wanting to curl up, and you let another sob rip through you.

She gives you one more, two for each leg, and shifts up, kissing at the corners of your watering eyes. “Good boy. Taking your punishment so well.” She punished you for wanting to kiss her. You’re sure she’s nuts.

“Rose, fuck, Rose, p-” You gasp, taking in a deep and sharp breath as her hand is replaced over the stinging spaces on your legs.

Right. You weren’t given permission to talk.

Fuck it.

“Please, Rose, I nee-, I wa- FUCK!” She doesn’t bring down her hand again. She continues rubbing for a few more moments, leans down and kisses the red hand prints.

She hushes you as she does it. She makes sure to keep in contact, and she trails the kisses up your chest. “You’re doing so well.” She murmurs against your neck and you’re covered in fucking black shit now. She smiles against your skin, like she knows that the realization has just dawned on you.

She draws back again and looks down at you, sighing dreamily again and finally, finally, undoing the little clasp between her breasts and ditching the article of clothing.

You like Rose’s boobs. What can you say, you’re a boob guy, typically you like them on the bigger end but Rose’s perky little B’s are fucking perfection. Her skin is smooth, perfect. She maintains it so seriously and it shows.

She’s flawless. She leans over and kisses at your chest more, this time instead of fabric you can feel the bare flesh of her chest against your stomach as she bites down hard on your pec. You cry out, and she bites harder, and holds. She holds it as you try to writhe free and when she pulls away you don’t miss the little pink tint to her teeth. She grins at you with them, and proceeds to lick them clean in the most disgustingly seductive way you have ever seen. You’re already hard as a fucking rock. She’s going to try and make you jizz yourself, the bitch.

You know that she doesn’t do these things to you out of malice. She doesn’t do this because she hates you, no. She tells you she loves you. In the aftermath of your coupling, when she’s rubbing antibiotic on the scratches and bites, kissing where you’re sore and using a cloth to wipe away the black lipstick stains she leaves on your skin, she whispers that you’re a good boy, that she loves you, and you know she means it. She hides it, but she means it.

You’re not sure if it’s shame or something else that makes her hide your relationship from the prying eyes of the media.

You only say you’re single when people ask because she asked you to.

Dirk, your younger brother, thinks you’re nuts for letting her do the things she does. But what does he know?

He’s never been in love.

When she finally touches you it takes every ounce of restraint you have not to buck up off the bed, and even then you flinch, and let loose an awkward whining noise at her laugh.

“You’re not allowed to come until I say so, Dave.” She reminds you, as if she even needs to. You know already, and she’s going to do her best to make you disobey that order, her hand moving quickly and her mouth marking you even more. You fight it, the effort it takes not to come is painful. She only stops when you open your mouth to try and tell her you can’t hold it anymore, and even when she does pull her hand away you can’t stop yourself from tipping over the edge.

She watches you, waits until you’re finished, waits until you’re panting and begging for her not to punish you for disobeying. She tsks again, and runs a hand through your hair, the other comes down on your thigh again.

“Disobedient boys get punished, Dave.” She says softly, rubbing your leg and curling her fingers in your hair, “Maybe this time you’ll learn.”

You want to learn.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are much appreciated, kudos are too, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Also if you hit up my tumblr (bruhthatsgay) with an idea, I might write it.


End file.
